How to Pressure Can Foods for Long Term Storage

HISTORY

(The historical information is adapted from www.thecharmedkitchen.com)

The first known pressure cooker was invented in 1679, believe it or not, by Denis Papin, a French physicist and mathematician. His invention was a large cast iron pot with a lockable lid that raised the boiling point of water.  At this higher temperature, bones softened and meat cooked in quick time. It was promoted as a “digester” because it cooked food so quickly. Sadly, it was difficult to control the pressure and explosions were common. Eventually he added a valve to release extra pressure.

In 1795, Napoleon Bonaparte offered a reward for whomever could develop a safe, reliable food preservation method for his constantly traveling army. Nicholas Appert took on the challenge, and about 15 years later introduced a method that involved heat-processing food in glass jars reinforced with wire and sealed with wax.

The next breakthrough with tin cans occurred in or around 1810.  Englishman Peter Durand sealed food in “unbreakable” tin cans… but the can opener was not invented until 48 years later! Before that cans were opened with hammer and chisels! The first commercial canning establishment in the U.S. was started in 1912 by Thomas Kensett.

It wasn’t until Louis Pasteur was able to demonstrate how the growth of microorganisms causes food to spoil that people understood WHY canning methods preserved edible food.

At the time of the U.S. Civil War glass food preservation jars with metal clamps and replaceable rubber rings had been invented. These jars are still available today, although they are no longer recommended for canning, just for storing dry goods.

In 1858, John Mason invented a glass jar with a screw-on thread molded into its top, and a lid with a rubber seal. Most canning jars are still referred to as Mason jars.

Meanwhile in the late 1800’s, William Charles Ball and his brothers got into the food preservation jar business and began buying up smaller companies. They quickly became leaders in the industry. Ball jars are today one of the most widely used jars for canning (and their cookbooks are wonderful – LE).

HOW TO

I regard pressure canning as an essential skill for anyone wanting to increase self-sufficiency and resilience.  Power outage from a tornado, hurricane, flood?  A huge harvest from the garden, hunting, or fishing?  Can’t get to a supermarket during a week-long blizzard or after surgery?  Enjoy the convenience of meat, cheese, vegetables and fruits you pressure canned in advance!

If someone has never seen the equipment, it may be hard to imagine how this works, especially since the process requires some specialized equipment.   For one thing, as conveyed above, you do not use cans!  ???  The containers are tempered glass mason jars with metal, two part lids – a flat disk and a round lipped sleeve that fits over the disk and screws around the top of the jar.  The pressure canner is a specialty kitchen item, not a normal pot. It is super heavy duty steel, designed with a unique lid. The top locks in place with six screwable locks and three L shaped brackets and has a steam valve like a mini chimney that you top with a round, metal regulator.  Covering the steam vent with the regulator enables the temperature within to rise and remain above the boiling point (usually 240 degrees for my canning), thus killing most bacteria over the designated duration of cooking.  We bought the All American brand for about $275 in a size that fits 7 quart jars at a time. 

After processing, the cook lets the hot water and steam pressure cool before lifting the lid to pull the jars out of the hot water bath and set them on an appropriate surface to cool.  The temperature difference between the interior and exterior of the jars causes pressure by which the disk tops suck inward (concave), thus creating an air tight seal to protect the food within.  When you want to consume the food, months or years later, you break the seal with a gentle twisting movement on the edge of the disk, with a fork or other utensil.

EXAMPLE of METHOD and TIMING

This week, I canned 21 jars of brassica (cabbage, broccoli, and cauliflower) leaves.   

1.   1.  First I assemble the equipment in the kitchen.  I fill the pressure canner with water high enough to fill and barely top 7 quart jars (they are about 8 inches tall).  I lay the disk lids on top of the jars.  As the water heats, it cleans the containers and tempers the glass for the boiling temperatures ahead.  On another burner, I heat water in a large pot to blanch the leaves.  (Blanching is quickly boiling the vegetables to turn bright green, then plunging them in a nearby large bowl of cold water to stop the cooking.)  On the counter, I place a big bowl full of cold water, a smaller empty bowl, a sharp knife, long tongs, a soup ladle, a sieve, and a special canning tool that looks like short tongs but with a circular clamp, to lift the round jars in and out of the hot water.

2.   2.  Then I go out to the gardens to harvest enough leaves to fill 7 + quarts (about 15 leaves per jar or about 100 leaves total).  This pleasant task takes me about 30 minutes.    

3.   3.  Upon returning, my prep works takes about an hour.  I fill one sink full of cool water, rinse the leaves in the other and then lay them in the bath.  I gather 8 leaves, roll them up like a green log, cut crosswise into sushi sized pieces, and then long wise, resulting in rectangular confetti of leaves.  Any long or thick stems or spines, I snap off and drop in the empty bowl. Every time I amass 24 or 32 leaves, I blanch them for maybe 10 – 20 seconds.  Then I fish the leaves out with the sieve and dump them into the pot of cool water to stop the cooking. 

4.   4.  During the next set of 24 – 32 leaves I chop, I blanch the stems and spines, which, being thicker, take more time – often a minute.

5.   5.  Some people flavor the vegetables with herbs, onions, etc at this point, but I prefer to store mine plain, so I can be more spontaneous when I eventually prepare meals.   I pull out a hot jar from the pot, empty the water, and with the long tongs, fill the jar with the blanched and cooled leaves or stems, pressing down occasionally to fit more.  Then I ladle hot blanch water over the leaves, poking with the tongs to open up any air pockets.  Every canned food recipe has a suggested airspace at the top, such as half an inch.  When I have left overfilled jars in an unheated outbuilding in winter, the liquid expanded and cracked the jars.  So I carefully assess the space at the top.  I wipe the top edge of the jar with a clean towel and then place the lid and ring on, finger tight, not tighter, for reasons that relate to the cooking process and subsequent self-sealing. 

6.       The science and safety of canning, as well as recipes, are well explained in Bell’s Book of Canning, which is sort of the “Bible” of canning. 

7.   6.  When all 7 jars are immersed in the simmering water bath, with about 1 inch of water covering the lids, I lock on the lid, crank up the heat, and watch until steam vents out of the top for several minutes.  Then I place the regulator on top and set the timer.

8.     Acidic foods, like berries, tomatoes, and citrus are processed very quickly (15 -20 minutes for quart jars).  Non-acidic foods, like meats, tubers, and other fruits and vegetables take MUCH longer, such as 90 minutes for quart jars of leafy greens. 

9.  7. It also takes another 60 – 90 minutes for the water and steam in the pot to cool down enough to remove the regulator and then the lid. So when I can vegetables or bear meat, I can only process two batches in a day.  During berry harvesting season, I can process more sets… if I want to spend all day at it.  Otherwise, I pop the berries in gallon bags in the freezer to deal with during inclement weather. 

108.  I place the hot jars on the stone surface that surrounds our wood stove.  I can see the liquid still bubbling/boiling through the glass. I leave them there overnight, hearing “pings” when internal pressure seals the jars when the lids go concave.

119.  The next morning, I test each jar’s seal by poking the lids gently with a finger.  Those that sealed are firm and do not lift free of the jar.  Those that did not seal for some reason (like a bit of food on the lip of the jar, or a dented lid) wiggle and lift easily.  The sealed ones go on the pantry shelf, labelled with contents and date.  The unsealed ones go in the freezer or refrigerator to consume sooner or to can again with a different lid.

During the summer, of course, we gather fresh vegetables for salads and side dishes each day.  But since brassicas grow so easily here, our winter rice, stews, stir fries, and other dishes often feature a hefty portion of brassica leaves for color, nutrients, and roughage.   We generally open one quart per week.  By the end of summer, I will have canned more than 100 jars of summer fruits and vegetables (and hopefully, bear meat) to enjoy through the winter and into next year. 

Yes, this takes a long time, especially if a reader is able to order foods on line, delivered to the door.  On the other hand, I enjoy a sense of pride in each mouthful.  I not only grew this food from tiny seeds, I also preserved it for my family’s consumption in a tasty dish.

Dry Summer Food Production in Alaska: Good for veggies, bad for berries

Wet and dry summers have inverse impacts on our vegetable and berry harvests.  Past experience reinforces the importance of planting/harvesting/storing more than we can eat in a single year. 

Last year was so rainy that our berry harvests (all types) were HUGE, in both fruit size and quantity.  We gathered close to six gallons of raspberries, alone.  However, slugs liked the wet conditions, too.  They invaded the vegetable gardens, chewed leaves to lace and invaded every nook and cranny of broccoli and cauliflower heads.  GROSS!  Root crops and greenhouse plants were spared, but all the time and effort to seed, transplant, and care for scores of leafy veggies … yielded a few measly winter weeks of those vegetable dishes. 

 

This hot, dry summer is very different.  Some veggies and herbs bolted (flowered) early, after which they degrade, but others look hale and hardy, especially old reliables like potatoes and brassicas (cabbage, etc).  On the other hand,, the brassica buttoned, which I had never even heard of, which is when they fail to set heads,, or grow only tiny ones.  so I am harvesting the leaves to can for winter or summer side dishes.

Every afternoon, I gather leaves and flowers for the evening salad.  The last two weeks featured leaves of beets, lettuce, carrots, chives, turnips, radish, and mustard, and the pretty, pink, yellow, and white flowers of the last four. I make a tasty dip with carrot greens, too.

Unfortunately, the berry production in this weather is PUNY, in both size and number.  Last year, high bush cranberries numbered 15 – 25 on a strand.  This year:  3 – 5 tiny hard ones.  Prior years we had to net our six haskap bushes to deter birds.  This year, they barely visit.  Similar reductions are clear in currants, gooseberries, and haskaps.  Only the saskatoons and raspberries seem to have the same number of berries, but they will likely be smaller fruit.

Winter weather affects food production, too.  Two perennials, lovage (tastes like celery) and sorrel (a citrusy leafy green) did not overwinter, to my dismay.  They had been so robust for several years that I did not seed any others.  I miss them both and will have to start over next year.  Perhaps it was the very cold temperatures in November with no insulating snow cover.  Even the heavy mulching of those gardens with birch leaves was apparently inadequate.

One edible weed I like so much that I actually let it proliferate in my raised bed gardens.  It is called lamb’s quarter.  This plant favors disturbed soil, like gardens a⅝nd roadsides.  I use it, raw or cooked, in the same way I prepare spinach – in dips, salads, and sautéed dishes.  Lamb’s quarter leaves and very young stalks have a gentle, almost nutty flavor.  For tonight, I made a dip with mayo, sour cream, garlic, parmesan, and the leaves.  Earlier in the week, I added the plants to a stir fry with rice noodles and chicken.  Last week I sautéed the greens with garlic, lemon, and butter.  Yum.   

 Anyone living in a remote location or otherwise seeking to increase self-sufficiency is wise to learn how to identify, harvest, and utilize wild, edible plants.  Where I live, I do not have to worry about pesticides or pollution.  I harvest a number of other wild plants too, for food and teas, but I don’t let fireweed, dandelions, or ferns grow in the gardens.    

The convenience of a supermarket is marvelous in its selection and logistics, but I have learned to expand my varieties of food modestly, through growing and foraging.

Captain Buddy, Our Kayaking Alaskan Dog

Three weeks ago, we adopted a young dog (perhaps a year old) from the Palmer pound.  He is mostly a chocolate lab, with some other antecedents mixed in.  We named him Buddy.  As one friend said, “Our place must be dog heaven.”   I hope it will be.

Buddy on bow

Our priorities for selection were:

• Big enough to not be eagle bait
• Small enough to fit in our Piper PA 20 plane and our small log cabin
• Neither  yippy nor a big hair shedder
• Trainable, given the chickens, bear, and moose in the vicinity
• Likes water
  

 

Other than his killing two chickens the first day, things are going OK as we get to know each other.

Kayaking with him is fun for all three of us.

Every afternoon, we all clamber into the blue, tandem kayak.  Early on, Buddy stands on the bow, looking like a canine version of “Master and Commander.” 

Yesterday, for the first time, he felt calm enough to lie down on the bow, which we hope he will continue, but he spends most of the time striding back and forth over both humans and along the skinny gunwales, reaching for lily pads or nipping at circling flies and then falling into the water. We haul him back into the boat, whereupon he soaks us… repeatedly… as he shakes the apparently requisite three times.  We smell like wet dogs when we paddle home for dinner, enjoying a salubrious dip in the wood fired hot tub first.

Buddy supervising desk work

On these watery sojourns, we meander here and there, putting in at bogs and meadows where he jumps off like a commuter who knows his stop.  He chases birds and sniffs plants (and probably other animals urine).  When satisfied, he hops back on and we move to another favored spot, like shallow rocky points where he can walk in the water and shaded coves with live sweet gale branches with which he wrestles and water logged birch boughs that he tries to haul out of the lake.       

He is still very needy of human companionship, which we understand.  The Anchorage animal shelter volunteers said that they are at capacity because people are returning their pets. I have read that this is true nation-wide.  One reason frequently stated is the inflationary costs of human and dog food/supplies preceded by a high rate of adoptions during Covid shut downs.  Perhaps Buddy’s prior owner had to cut costs.  Perhaps after working from home for two years, he had to start leaving the dog alone every day and returned to a home destroyed by a distraught canine.  Whatever the reason may be, the dog was evidently not physically abused, but does have abandonment issues.  We are working to assure him that we are reliably here for him.

Buddy giving kisses

After that, we will need to train him to be comfortable in the plane…

June at an off-grid Alaska Cabin: bear burgers recipe

The short summers of Alaska are busy for everyone.  Here, too.  In June alone, between (and during) visits by and to friends and family, we had several visits by moose cows and calves, harvested a destructive black bear (10.5 quarts of bear broth alone – bear burgers for dinner tonight), and gathered, dried, blanched, froze, canned, fermented, pickled meat and veggies (as appropriate), and limed 60 eggs toward the 100 I want to have when the hens molt (and produce no eggs) for 6-8 weeks in the fall.  

This time of year, we enjoy many Cobb salad entrees for dinner, with whatever greens I gather that day, plus meat, cheese, and hard boiled eggs provided by the hens and ducks.  Sorrel remains a citrus-y favorite green (raw only).  The spicy leaves of horseradish, nasturtium, and mustard flavor burgers, bratwurst, and potato salad.  A sauce/dip/chutney of fresh mint leaves with jalapeno is a tasty condiment.  Rhubarb enlivens oatmeal, muffins, and desserts now and through much of the winter, too.   

Yes, mosquitoes are BAD in Alaska in June.  We battled a 4 week onslaught both indoors and out.  Inside, we slept under mosquito nets, and wielded tennis racquet – like bug zappers with the finesse of Wimbledon athletes.  We live a very organic life EXCEPT this time of year, when we light chemical coils outside the front and back doors and spray ourselves with DEET.   

 

But June is not all work and insects.  We enjoy nearly daily afternoon kayaks around the lake and frequent, stunning flights with views of several, snow capped mountain ranges and the river valleys in between.  The air smells sweet, and sweetly varying, as a succession of plants come into flower at various heights, from ground cover to bushes to trees (ash).  I sniff my way around the property each afternoon, appreciating each short burst of beauty, both olfactory and visual.  

Weather-wise, June 2021 has been unusual, primarily for precipitation.  The first week we witnessed a rather dramatic hailstorm from our covered front porch.  As hailstones bounced onto the deck, I popped some into my wine.  Fortunately this year, like last June's hailstorm, too, no damage occurred to any of our plants.   For the rest of the month, we saw many more days of rain than usual.  This pattern, following the hot (low 80s) temps in May meant that some plants bolted early from the heat and others were visited by aphids and slugs.  Not a great combo if you want to eat what you grow!  I nipped out the flowers of the bolters, sprayed garlic solution on the aphids, densely sprinkled diatomaceous earth around and on the plants visited by slugs, and started harvesting leaves and stalks earlier than usual for canning.  So far, my efforts seem to be helping.  The heat and rain likely mean a second fabulous year for harvesting several gallons of our five types of berries.  Yum.

A noticeable difference this year is the lack of pollinators.  For 7-8 years, we have raised honeybees.  This year, rain and other issues prevented our picking up the four small, nuclear colonies with our bee vendor.  When we realized this, he was able to loan or rent them to local orchards.  By the time we could retrieve them, the number of bees in each colony made the prospect of flying them out in our little plane a rather dicey proposition (!!!)  So we will harvest the honey at his  place in August.  Without the bees here,  I notice that the only insects in my gardens this month are mosquitoes and an occasional bumblebee.  I hand pollinated the plants in my greenhouse, but I fear a low harvest.  

 

I never thought of myself as fond of any insects, but I want those gentle bees back here!

Bear Burger Recipe

* Shoot, skin, and butcher a black bear (This will take many hours)

* Soak meat in a thin brine overnight.  Pluck off residual hairs.

* Chop meat into chunks, like stew meat - about 2 x 2 inches.

*Feed through a meat grinder, alternating with fat (pork or bear) of the proportion you prefer for burgers (85%/15% etc). 

*Grind a second time. (the grinding is fast, but set up, grinding, and clean up takes about an hour)

* Either chill immediately or combine immediately with other flavorings, such as herbs, diced onions, grated cheese.  Shape into burger shapes or hot dog shapes. 

* When firm but not frozen, toss on the grill. 

* Serve on home made buns with condiments of choice, just like hamburgers.

For some reason,  I do not find bear burgers to be the "gut busters" that  similar sized beef burgers can be.

May in Southcentral Alaska - snow, bears, birds, and flowers

 May is the month of greatest transitions here.  Just as the weasel's fur  changes from white to brown, so does the landscape shed its snowy raiment for muddy expanses that quickly green up and then flower.  Temperatures rose from a low of +6F to +78 (which is too hot for me).  Surely heat records for May.  

WATER:

On Mother's Day (May 8) we were able to drop the kayak into a slim slip of open water and bob about close to shore.  By May 11, we crashed through rotting ice floes,to huge expanses of  water which  a diverse community  of ducks and geese discovered immediately.  Yea!  Welcome back, feathered friends!  No otters this year though. Right on schedule, the lake was fully liquid on May 15, so we scheduled an air taxi to pick up Bryan on the 17th so he could retrieve his float plane in Willow.  

LAND:  

The land starts out a muddy mess, traversed with the sinuous swales that voles carved below the snow.  We gather up branchy debris that fell during winter storms and use it to “courderoy” low wet spots that spell “mosquito nursery” to anyone in the region. Initially, these branches provide a bit of a surface to walk over the water and mud.  Eventually, they will break down and perhaps raise the surface a bit at a time.  Two big, rotting birch trees snapped during a wind storm and slopped over the sap line.  We will cut them into firewood this summer.   Meanwhile, I collected 20 gallons of sap from 6 trees elsewhere over a few days.  A tasty and vitamin rich spring tonic.

I LOVE wandering about the newly opened brownscape to “visit” wild plants that bounce up out of the snow.  To me, they are like snowbird neighbors who have returned after a winter away.  Because of several  years culling thick swathes of devil's club, sweet grass, and wild raspberries, I enjoy  a sunny meadow with a prickly rose “garden, ” orchards of high bush cranberry bushes, and an expanding  ground cover of white starflowers and dwarf dogwood which delights me.   Wild currants tumble gracefully over spruce stumps and under birch trees.  These plants are the first to flower, with small, modest mauve and white flowers that perfume the surrounding air. Opportunistic dandelions are pretty, too, and nutritious.  Bumblebees dote on the butter yellow flowers of the domestic haskap (honeyberry) bushes which line the south side of our cabin.

 

GARDENS: 

Each autumn, I mulch the raised bed gardens with a soft bed of birch leaves. In May,  intrepid perennial plants like rhubarb, chives, feverfew, strawberry, and sorrel are the first to pop through, followed, sigh, by the weed chickweed.  

To try to retard that weed in my gardens and greenhouse, I SERIOUSLY FURTHER mulched three gardens, totalling 156 square feet, with the mucky chicken bedding I described in the April blog.   I also lay garden fabric on the ground, next to the raised bed in my green house and topped it with spruce rounds as stepping stones to retard the rampant growth of weeds in there.  I can already see the advantage because of the ferns growing green and lush beneath the fabric – but unable to grow upward or spread spores... except where they find the edges and openings.  Of the three ground covers, the birch leaves were the most effective at retarding chickweed.  Point noted.

WILD and DOMESTIC ANIMAL HUSBANDRY:

I feel sorry for my hens cooped up all winter.  They don't like the snow and cold.  So it was such a pleasure to see them venture bravely across the snow toward the cabin, under which there is so much dry, dusty, welcoming dirt.    Interestingly to me, it was the “lowest three gals” on the pecking order that ventured out first.  I wonder if this is analagous to humans.  Were the  lower orders of societies  the brave sailors, pilgrims, and “miner '49ers”  who took off first for points unknown?  Out and about on brown and green land, the hens function as  shallow rototillers, scratching up the dead grass looking for seeds and grubs.  We have added two ducks and five more hens to our menagerie, much to our amusement.

We always see moose cows and calves in late May/early June, but never a bear that early in the year... until now.  One night about 10 pm I saw a HUGE cow and her dainty calf walking past the cabin.  They headed toward a woodsy spot near the lake and then BOLTED out of the trees back toward us.  Clearly, they were running away something frightening.  Sure enough,  two brown bears chased them up hill.  They evaded their predators, because we saw them a week later (this evening).    

I also surprised a cow and twins around 11 am when I popped outside to stir the hot tub water.  The mom stopped, assessed the danger and then trotted up hill, 50 feet past me.   

There is never a dull day in May.  Much to do.  Much to see. 

July and August at a Remote Alaska Homestead

July is probably the best month to visit South Central Alaska.  Most of the mosquitoes are gone, weather is great (usually sunny, 60-80 during the day), flowers are growing in abundance.  Sunlight tops 20 hours, so I sleep with an eye mask.  

 

This year, though, our summer was unusually rainy (which benefited the berries but brought slugs to the gardens) and yellow jackets were unusually abundant.  We found hives under the front porch, in the greenhouse, and even in boots hung upside down outside the guest cabin.  In August, they attacked our bee hives, and we think may have moved into one hive abandoned by a colony that swarmed (departed),  leaving too small a group to defend itself from the aggressive predators.  Bryan duct taped the entrance and ventilation holes to suffocate the wasps.  Fortunately, because the two hives were so large and productive, he harvested the honey in several tranches in July and August, thus depriving the wasps of many gallons of that golden nectar.   

May at an Alaska Homestead

May is a month of dramatic transitions, from a silent, white landscape and frozen lake to the first flowers,  birdsong, and visits by gangling moose calves. Below is a summary of our activities every May.

Early in the month, the only hint of spring is the earthy brown “doughnuts” around the base of trees.  Walking through the warming snow is challenging.  The snow paths are often hard and icy in the morning, so we wear ice cleats for traction.  By mid-day, the snow is soft and sloppy, requiring snow shoes to avoid sinking deeply with each step.  Imagine wearing long snow shoes to enter an outhouse, or food shed.  Inconvenient!!!  As a result, I often try, too soon, to do without snowshoes. Alas, I sank up to my groin at the burn barrel and had to crawl out onto the surface, like a crab.

Despite all the snow, spring officially commences, in my view,  when we tap the birch trees.  Sap flow indicates that these deciduous trees recognize  spring even if we can't see it yet.  This date has varied over the years from April 2 to May 17, but is usually around May 1.  The sapping season lasts for ten days, ending when the first leaves appear. 

Some years, we collect enough sap (at least 100 gallons) to make syrup (a 1:100 ratio).  This year, however, the snow was so deep that it buried our sap lines, so we simply positioned buckets at the base of the two closest trees and collected about 10 gallons.  With half of this nutritious spring tonic, I made coffee, rice, pancakes - anything that otherwise requires water.  With the other half, I made a batch of wine.  Birch sap is only 2% sugar and lacks the mouthfeel of fruit based wines.  I add honey and dried elder flowers for flavor.  The result is thin and dry.  Not great, but a spring tradition. 

Another spring ritual is to drag the tandem kayak out from under the cabin and paddle in the shifting open leads between ice floes for a few days until the ice disappears.  For the past few years, we have been joined by one or two otters.   We see them only in fall and spring when the lake has this brief, transitional mix of ice and water.  The morning after the lake breaks, these visitors disappear.  I love to see the first reflections of the snowy mountains in the water.  So pretty.  After that, we enjoy a happy hour kayak every afternoon, with homemade wine and beer and store bought un-shelled peanuts. 

May also welcomes the return of migrating birds.  We hear and see huge V's of nomadic geese heading north.  As soon as the ice starts to break, we are visited by pairs of swans and, depending on the species, pairs and groups of ducks.  This spring, we saw a pair of sandpipers walking along an ice floe.  What wrong turn did they take????  Maybe he (?) was colorblind and didn't ask directions?   When the snow melts in our meadows and the bog at the end of the lake, we see pairs of sandhill cranes looking for something tasty to nibble. 

One annual task that we do only in April or May when there is about a foot of snow on the ground is a bonfire of huge piles of rotted logs and twisted piles of alder branches that we pile up in the meadow the prior year.  The snow is a prudent fire protection.   I choose to vary locations each year, because the previous year's fire location becomes home to a stunning patch of pink fireweed as well as tiny birch seedlings.  Perhaps this is  our modest version of terra preta - an ancient practice of burning soil to enrich it as well as emancipating seeds that benefit from fire.

As the snow recedes, wild berry plants bounce up - cranberry, elderberry, and currants - which are the first to flower.  I prune broken branches and clear limbs that have rained down upon the plants during winter storms.  My form of “landscaping” amounts to observing which plants “want” to live here or there and encouraging those, such as currants that grow up and spill over the stumps of birch and spruce trees, fields of fireweed, woodsy paths lined with cranberry and rose bushes. 

In late May, I can finally plant the hundreds of seedlings I started indoors under grow lights.  When day time temperatures top 50,  I start transitioning them outside for increasing numbers of hours  to “harden them off” - which is getting them used to the wind, sun, and temperature variations outdoors.  The greenhouse soil warms up much faster than the outdoor gardens, of course, but since night time temperatures can still drop below 32 degrees in May, I monitor the forecast carefully to determine when it is safe to move the plants.  On that day, usually around May 20, I feel like a mom sending her children off to their first day of school.  I have coddled the seedlings indoors; now it is time to see how they do without me all the time.

Speaking of plants... what pollen do our honeybees and wild pollinators find before any flowers appear?  In mid-late May,  brown and green “dust” of pollen coats outdoor furniture, from the catkins on birch, alder, and sweet gale.  These are the first ingredients for the honey we will harvest in August (and yes, the honey does taste and look different over the course of a summer).

Toward the end of May, a cow moose always has twin calves in the woods behind our property.  It is such a treat to see those slim, leggy youngsters trotting after her, nursing whenever she stands still to chow down.  Her favorite plants are birch, ash, and cranberry.  We are particularly cautious when walking around at this time as a LARGE defensive cow can be aggressive if startled or if she perceives a threat to herself or her progeny.

When temperatures warm up at the end of the month, we witness a rather weird three day visit by tiny gnats.  In the lee of the wind - often right next to our back door, they form an undulating, six foot column that is some sort of whirling mating ritual.  They also coat every white surface, like the propane tanks and window sills.  Suddenly, after those three days, they disappear.

May in Alaska is certainly not the lovely month of flowers that southerly climates enjoy.  But it is one of dramatic changes for us:  from white to brown to green, from silence to songs of birds, insects, and lapping water, and a shift from the fragrance of wood fires to the sweet scents of grass and flowers.

The Necessity of Spring Cleaning a Wood Heated Home

I never thought I would say this, but I LOVE spring cleaning.   I actually look FORWARD to it!  Besides the deep cleaning, which is sorely needed,  I wonder if my zeal reflects a celebration of the end of winter, too.  

Heating a cabin by wood all day, every day over a LONG winter is such a dusty business.  I can easily understand why, in the “olden days”, wealthier people traded out seasonal rugs, draperies, and furniture covers. 

When the days warm up enough in May to throw windows open and thaw the drain line of the washing machine, we engage in spring cleaning, which, in our small, two room cabin, takes about three days.

WOODSTOVE:  On the first of every winter month, Bryan clears the external chimney shaft of creosote accretions.  He pushes, shoves, and rotates a long, extendable fiberglass wand attached to a stiff, round, metal brush (a chimney sweep) through an access “door” at the bottom of the outside chimney.  This process is the mechanical equivalent of reducing plaque on teeth or cholesterol in arteries.  Otherwise, the build up reduces the draft and increases fire hazard - not a desirable combination in a remote, log cabin.

We wait until spring to tackle the top of the chimney and the stove and chimney inside.  For the former, Bryan climbs a steep, two story ladder with a gizmo he created out of a paint roller rod that he uses to chip away the hard, black creosote buildup that clings to the wire mesh “throat” beneath the “cap” at the top of the chimney.  This project is a bother.  Friends have told us that they have torn out the mesh.  Bryan has clipped, with tin snips, what he can reach from the back - about 1/3 of the circumference, so at least on that side, there is nothing for the creosote to cling to.  Meanwhile, I brace the bottom of the ladder while wearing a hard hat against a hail like storm of small, hard, sharp creosote that rains down on the back deck, and me.  This noise scares the chickens nearby!

After that rather daunting task is completed, we move indoors.  First, we remove the 23 gallon aluminum tank above the wood stove that heats water all winter long.  Then, we shovel out as much ash as we can from the firebox.  (Cold ash is mixed with the chickens' hay as a desiccant that reduces odor and kills mites, and, in spring/fall, I ladle some into garden soil.)  Next, we use our shop vacuum to clear out the nooks and crannies in the brick fuel box and the seams of the stone “surround” beneath the stove.  After that, Bryan unscrews the 4 foot metal chimney pipe that rises from the woodstove to a 90 degree joint that pierces the back wall. He hauls his piece outside to shake and scrape out the creosote.  Meanwhile, inside, I use a large, long handled spoon to scoop out what I can from the 90 degree “elbow” and then deploy shop vac attachments, as far as I can reach.  Between the two of us, we remove about 5 gallons of winter build up that would otherwise clog the chimney. 

Once he re-installs the interior chimney pipe, I vacuum the floor and clean the stove.  The stove's grimy window clears easily with a vinegar soaked rag.  The stone “surround” is tougher.  Soap and baking soda are clearly not up to the job of removing a winter's accumulation of sticky ashy/sooty coating.  TSP is my “go-to” product. On hands and knees, I scrub, rinse, scrub, rinse the stones and then burn a lot of very dirty rags.  Every few years, I re-blacken the stove with a product designed for that purpose.  This is probably the easiest spring cleaning endeavor.  I simply wash the stove with soapy water, let it dry, and then buff in the blackening agent, which coats any rust and stains.  Later,  I fire up the stove to “cure” it.  It looks as good as new.

CLEANING THE HOUSE:
The wood stove  is step 1.  Step 2 finds me cleaning EVERY SURFACE in the cabin that the stove has dirtied every time we opened the door to add logs to the fire, which is frequent in winter!  Once the drain line thaws for the washing machine, I wash every small rug that will fit.  I beat and hose clean the biggest one.  Some years I wash every drapery.  This year I tried vacuuming all but the dirtiest. Then I leave all cushions and rugs outside overnight (which I do occasionally, anyway, to pick up the clean scent of fresh air, grass, and flowers).  Ummm, I inhale deeply as I write that. 

Besides the fabrics, all vertical, horizontal, and diagonal surfaces have accumulated a tacky layer of soot, too, even though I clean lightly throughout the winter.   With a series of damp rags, I go over EVERYTHING- the log walls, furniture, lamps, windows, sills, books on bookshelves, handles on drawers - even the mason and herb jars on storage shelves. 

Finally, of course, I wash the floor, several times, with mixtures of soapy water and vinegar.

Yea!  THE HOUSE SMELLS SO CLEAN!